


Walk a Mile

by Happy_Haunts



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Enemies, M/M, Multiple chapters, Romance, Somewhat alternate universe, Watford, baz being moody as usual, general hilarity, magic mistakes, screw ups all around, simon being oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:40:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happy_Haunts/pseuds/Happy_Haunts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz and Simon have always been enemies. From the moment they met. Destined, and all that. They live together, they fight all the time, so of course they know each other! But what happens one day when (yet another) magical screwup courtesy of Simon Snow causes them to realize that maybe there is a more to each other than meets the eye? </p><p>"I'm going to kill that bastard."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so yes this is totally cliched, but I for one, love cliches. Imagining this scenario in my head with our beloved Simon and Baz made me crack up. I hope you enjoy and (as always) comments and feedback are appreciated.
> 
> I write for fun and not for profit so please copyright gods, do not smite me down. I am but a lowly fan.

**Simon**

 

“This is stupid.”

 “Of course it’s not stupid, Simon. You need to practice enunciating your words.” Penny taps the ring on her finger.

 We’re sitting in my room (well _our_ room, but Baz is still out on the pitch, I can see him from here). Penny is sitting across from me (on Baz’s bed no less) with a thick book in her lap. Penny decided after the explosion in electrocution today that I needed to spend more time practicing my spells and less time following Baz around Watford.

 She probably has a point. She thinks that I stopped spending my nights in the catacombs after fifth year.

 “You wouldn’t sleep either, if your roommate’s mouth filled with vampire fangs every time he had a bloody nightmare,” I had told her. She hadn’t even bothered to respond.  I rub my cross almost unthinkingly. It’s involuntary now.

 “Simon.” She rolls her eyes. “Are you paying attention? Don’t make me spell you.” She twists her ring threateningly.

 I haven’t been. I feel guilty but it isn’t really my fault. I missed lunch while I was trying to clean up the mess I made in class today. As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly.

 “Good lord Simon, are you ever _not_ hungry?”

 I mumble something under my breath about missing lunch before dropping to my knees and blindly groping under my bed. I’m pretty sure I have some mint aero bars under here _somewhere_.

 Penny sighs.  She casts **Finder’s Keepers** and a few chocolate bars fly out from under the bed along with a few packets of crisps and a package of biscuits. I grin sheepishly.

 I really should clean more.

 Of course, if I was better at magic I could spell my room clean, but Baz put a stop to that after the fifth time that I destroyed the room. Sometime around sixth year he came in after I tried to do a simple cleaning spell and had managed to make the room into an even bigger mess. It was quite a sight, everything broken, or shattered, or lying on the floor, feathers everywhere.

 Baz strode in, looked around with his usual blank expression and without missing a beat snarled: “Crowley, Snow this is getting ridiculous. Even a first year can do a relatively simple cleaning spell without making the room explode or disappear into another fucking dimension. You truly are a mess.”

 After six years, I was pretty used to this, but it still hurt. He was right. _Is_ right. I am a fucking mess. I’m supposed to be the savior of the magical world or be some fairytale hero and be invincible and smart and actually decent at, you know, saving the world.

 Baz is more of that person than I will ever be. He’s infuriatingly cool, no matter how much I try to get him to lose it. To actually react like a person sometimes (although I suppose he isn’t fully a person anyway.) While Baz is calm, cool, collected, I have to fight not to go off and go supernova on everyone around me. It’s like he’s the opposite of everything I am.

 After pausing to let these words sink in, Baz put the room to right embarrassingly quickly and strode into the bathroom without so much as a second glance.

 “….tonight?”

 I snap back to the present. Penny is standing in front of me, hands on her hips. I think she just asked me a question.

 “Er…what was the question again?”

 She shakes her head. “I asked if you were going to meet Agatha tonight.”

 Was I? Honestly I can’t remember. “Um, yes?” She raises her eyebrow. I am a terrible boyfriend.

 “Well, sometimes she’s… busy, or, or she has something to do, or she forgets, or _I_ forget and…” I’m babbling now, stuttering through excuses. I feel my face heat up.

 “Oh, Simon.” She gives me a pitying look and suddenly closes the book on her lap with a loud _thump!_ and stands up. I’m still trying to figure out the exact meaning behind that expression when she holds out her hand and says, “Let’s go get something from the kitchens.”

 

**Baz**

 The atmosphere is still restless, the air still is full of the feeling of Snow’s magic, even hours after he makes yet another classroom object catch on fire or explode. The feel of his magic, of _Simon Snow_ still lingers for a ridiculous amount of time, long after he has gone to cause a problem somewhere else.

 It drives me mad. The feel of him even when he’s not there.

It’s bad enough living with him.

 Even the weather today reminds me of Snow, sunny and warm. The sun shining wherever you go, following you and improving moods everywhere.

 I’m not sure when I became so melodramatic. Fiona insists I have always been dramatic, even as a child (“Natasha was the same way, Basilton”) but I think that Snow has made me dramatic.

He’s turned me into another one of his characters in his ludicrous maiden fair drama, just another character in the life of Simon Snow.

 I see him in the dining hall, talking with Wellbelove and Bunce and surrounded by a crowd of people, as usual. Snow has too many friends, he attracts them like a fucking magnet. I’ve heard him tell Bunce that it is his unusual amount of magic and, partly, I’m sure that’s true. But it is so much more than that. Snow is just so… _alive_ and he has an energy that attracts people, completely independent of his magic. It’s almost impossible to ignore, almost impossible to look away.

 I don’t think he sees it. The thing that everyone else does.

 I head to the Catacombs tonight, more to have something to do than anything else. Despite the fact that I can see in the dark, the Catacombs have always made me uncomfortable and put me on edge. It is a sort of escape but simultaneously it is suffocating me, choking me and leaving me gasping for air. It reminds me that almost nightly I have to traverse dusty ancient corridors looking for rodents to drink, to sustain what I am.

 Not even a person, not completely.

 It reminds me that Snow and I are complete opposites. His life is already planned out, a golden savior for our kind, to ride off into the sunset with his beautiful girlfriend and I am resigned to stalk the dark streets and corridors looking for small animals to suck the life out of.

 Alright. Maybe a little too dramatic.

 Like I said, Snow brings that out in me.

 It’s all well and good that Snow and I are enemies, I suppose. After all, the part I play is the villain. For Crowley’s sake I am a fucking vampire. Snow has many enemies, but to him I stand for everything his precious mage is against. Not only that, but I am there everyday, a part of his life until he leaves Watford for good.

 Or until he murders me. Either way there is a definite end in sight. The Families are getting restless and anxious as the mage continues to force his radical “reforms” on a group of traditionalist families whose names have been around for centuries. A war is coming.

 I walk up the stairs to our room and go directly to bed. The windows are open, as usual, and Snow is already asleep, tangled in a ball under a pile of blankets. I allow myself one moment to stare at him, to watch his chest rise and fall, one moment of weakness. He is still, which comes as a relief to me because this means no nightmares tonight. Not only is it impossible to sleep through one when he really gets going, but it is also pure torture to hear him suffering just a few feet away. It makes me ache and long to walk over and climb into his bed and pull him close. To stroke his hair and whisper sweet meaningless things in his ear until he falls asleep.

 It is the worst kind of torture to sit there and listen, only mentioning them with irritation the next day. Sometimes I wonder what exactly Snow would do if I actually acted like I cared. Most likely accuse me of being up to some nefarious purpose or other. He thinks I spend all my time plotting against him and he’s partially right (I do spend most of my time thinking about him).

 Pathetic.

 I fall asleep listening to the sound of his snores (and the occasional sigh), counting each breath until I can’t keep my eyes open.

  **Simon**

 Penelope insists on continuing the lessons. She starts carrying even more books around so that she can work with me during meals and free time and she begs me to do it on my own every once in a while. She’s even got Agatha in on her plan. (She more or less just wants me to be able to actually control my magic-it can be embarrassing for her too)

 “Please, Si if you just practice for a few minutes every night you really could get better.”

 Normally I would ignore her. I know she means well, but I’m a hopeless case. This time though I actually decide to listen because I’m getting fed up with losing control over my magic. Or more to the point, I’m getting closer and closer to graduating from Watford. A war is coming (a war I’m somehow supposed to fight in) and I need to be prepared. I think I’m doing the right thing.

 So, here I am, reading words aloud out of a dictionary. I feel like an idiot. I have some spellbooks and books full of Normal sayings stacked on my desk. Penny says this is the best way to improve my pronunciation and things like that.

 “These are what make the difference Simon between tying a shoe with magic or cutting your foot off.” (Penelope is constantly being quoted in my head-she’s like my voice of reason).

 Agatha had been sitting and listening to us, and had said, “Why not just bend over and tie your shoe? Do you really need magic to do that?”

 She has a point, but I love magic too much to agree. It makes me feel good when I can do the smallest spells correctly because then I’m _something_.

 About ten minutes in to my “practising” Baz walks in. When he spots the book in my hand he sneers.

 “Finally learning to read, Snow?”

 The comment pisses me off, but I choose to ignore it. Penny’s right. Less time on Baz, more on trying to fix my magic. I close the heavy book and pick up one of the books full of sayings. It’s actually not a magical book. Most of the sayings in it have no meaning in spells, but it is still good practice. Besides I do need to start thinking about the eighth year project. I can’t even do an actual spell correctly, let alone make one up myself.

 I sit down at my desk and turn my back to Baz. He makes some sort of noise halfway between a snort and a laugh and I see him out of the corner of my eye sit down on his bed and takes out his own book.

 A few minutes pass before I hear Baz mutter something under his breath. I know I shouldn’t say anything. I should ignore it. I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I won’t.

 “What was that?” Too late.

 Baz smirks. “It’s pathetic Snow. You’re supposed to be some great, bloody hero and you can’t even pronounce words correctly.

 I feel anger begin to tighten in my stomach and I can’t help but spin around.

 “Fuck off.” (Have I lost already?)

 Baz continues as if he hasn’t heard me. “You’re a disgrace to magic. And yet, somehow people are depending on you to save the world when you are a danger to yourself and others.”

 “Stop.”

 Baz grins because he _knows_. He knows after living with me for seven years, what the lowest blow is. Where it really hurts.

 “How hard can it be, Snow? How much reading do you think you have to do before you can actually be a semi-competent human being?”

 I can feel myself starting to lose it, the sparking in my veins.

  **Baz**

_What the fuck am I doing?_

**Simon**

“You… you….you don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s easy for you, to be a… puppet for the families, do their dirty work, lurking around in the shadows like a fucking pet bat!” _Vampire references-really Simon?_  I can feel myself getting louder and Baz, the tosser, just raises an eyebrow at me.

 I feel my face flush, with anger, with embarrassment, with seven years of frustration.

 “At least I can do what I’m supposed to and I can do it correctly. Unlike you, the people who depend on me have good reason to. What have you really done Simon Snow?”

 I have to stop now before I do something stupid like punching Baz and getting kicked out of Watford. Or go off. I clamp my mouth shut and pick my book up again, muttering the sayings under my breath, hoping Baz will leave me the fuck alone.

 I look up and accidently make eye contact with Baz, who is staring at me with that smirk. I feel a stab of anger as I look down and read the next saying: **Don’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes**.

 I feel panicked as I realize that those words were drenched in magic. This shouldn’t be happening. These weren’t supposed to be spells (did I just create a spell?) I feel my magic working and I brace for the explosion, but all I feel is an odd tingling feeling that rushes through my bones and disappears as fast as it came, like a shiver down my spine.

 I wait for something to happen. I look at Baz who looks momentarily spooked before his face smooths out into his usual bored expression.

 “Snow,” he says, softly. Dangerously. “What the fuck was that?”

  **Baz**

I felt his magic. I know I did. But this time it was used on me as opposed to around me.

 Snow looks about as disoriented as I feel. Nothing happened, but he did something. I fucking _felt_ it.

 “This is exactly why you shouldn’t be playing around with spells,” I snap. “With you unsupervised, who knows what will happen?”

 He looks thoughtful as opposed to pissed off. “I wonder what that did?”

 “Knowing you, probably something potentially life threatening.”

 He shrugs. Which pisses me off.

 “Whatever. I’m going to bed.” _Hopefully to put this miserable day behind me._

I hadn’t meant to say anything to Snow _._ I was planning to just ignore him as usual and go straight to sleep. But then I saw him, sitting there with a furrow in his brow and his tongue poked between his teeth, absorbed in whatever he had been doing, and I felt an irrational burst of anger. He always makes me lose control.

Snow nods, but doesn’t say anything and a few minutes later I drift off to sleep, a sense of foreboding in my stomach.

  **Later that night**

 When the clock strikes midnight that night, another whisper of powerful magic, like a breeze rustling through trees, rushes through the moonlit tower room and both occupants give an involuntary shudder.

 The figure previously curled up in to a tight ball gives a sigh and stretches out under the covers before facing the wall.

 A few feet away, the second does the reverse of the first, curling into a tight little ball with a whimper, dark hair poking out from underneath a pile of blankets.

 The light changes angles as the moon moves through the sky, undisturbed and peaceful, as the night continues on.


	2. Tomorrow is a New Day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz wake up and figure out what happened. Confusion ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! Yes it's been a little while since I updated, but (rather coincidentally) I just got back from a 2 week trip to England and I was busy 18 hours out of the day. Which is good especially when you're in a place like London, yeah? 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading and thanks to swearbytheangel specifically for commenting. I love comments and suggestions even if it's really short so if you feel like it I would like your opinion! Thanks :)

**Simon**

I wake up slowly the next morning and I feel a weird sense that something is…off. I couldn’t really describe it any other way. I almost always wake up early (so I can get to the dining hall as fast as possible) and usually I can hear the shower running. No matter how early I wake up, Baz is always up before me.

 It figures. I’m positive his morning routine takes at least two hours to complete, the tosser.

 This morning is quiet, though, which means either Baz has slept in or I have. A moment passes before I realize that I can hear him snoring. I hear something else too, a steady beat that sounds familiar in the background.

 Wait a second. Baz doesn’t snore.

 I sit up so fast that my vision blurs. That can’t be right. As soon as I sit up, I feel every muscle and bone in my body ache painfully and I wince. _Did something happen last night?_

Once my vision focuses, I glance around the room. It’s still the same room and nothing looks out of place or broken or anything like that. Something seems different about the room though but the brief shot of adrenalin is fading and my eyes have already drifted closed again. I don’t think I slept very well, although for once it isn’t because of nightmares.

 I crack my neck and sigh out loud. Maybe I should say I’m sick and go back to sleep (although Penelope would absolutely murder me if I missed class again). It’s not that far off anyway. I feel exhausted and every part of me hurts. I should wake Baz up though because I just know he will blame me if he’s even a second late to Electrocution (he’s impossible to live with even when he’s not pissed off-although I think that’s more of a permanent state of being for Baz, anyway).

 I shift my whole body over to the end of the bed, putting my feet on the floor, and hug my arms to my chest. I pad over to the side of the other bed and hesitate for a second. I’ve never really had to wake Baz up before. What if he’s one of those people who wakes up and tries to murder the nearest person? I’d rather not surprise an angry vampire, thank you very much.

 I can’t even see him (at this point I’m just guessing he’s under the giant lump of comforters and blankets) and I hope that I can react fast enough when _whatever_ is under there wakes up. Carefully, I reach a finger out and poke right in the middle of the mysterious lump, with my eyes closed. It makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl.

 Well. That doesn’t make me feel any better.

 I use my hand to shove, this time with more force. Nothing. Maybe he needs someone actually raising their voice? “Baz, you need to wake up, you’re going to-“I freeze at the sound of my own voice. Because it isn’t mine and yet it’s still painfully familiar. I hear it nearly every day but usually it’s laughing at me or sneering insults, not coming out of my own mouth. I glance back down at my hands and notice how white they are, like clean snow, and see the veins blue and purple branching out underneath my skin. I reach up and run my hand through my hair. I feel a stab of panic, bright and sharp. Things start falling into place alarmingly quickly.

  _Everything is sharper, more focused. I can hear things I normally can’t._ I’m suddenly struck by the rhythmic sound I can hear in the background. _His heartbeat. I can hear his heartbeat… The room looked different because I was on the wrong side of it-the wrong bed._

_No. No no no not good._

 “Baz?” I say this slowly and quietly as if I’m approaching a deer and trying not to scare it away. As gently as I can, I pull back the blankets and when I do I can’t help the series of curses that come out of my mouth. What’s under the blankets is something a _lot_ more familiar than a random magical creature that somehow made its way in here.

  _I am so screwed._

**Baz**

I am drifting, caught in that state between sleep and consciousness. I see shadows, something moving on the edge of my vision. Something dull pokes me hard and I feel myself get jerked away and the world comes flooding back in. I am exhausted and I still feel like my senses are wrapped in layers of cloth. I hear something, but it sounds far away. In the back of my mind there is an urgent feeling, like there’s something I should be doing.

 Just as I’ve dismissed the idea and am drifting back to sleep, the covers are pulled back and the cold air makes me shiver. There is something off about that feeling and I’m trying to understand what it is when I hear a voice right above me, talking low and fast. Vaguely, I register that it sounds tense and charged, like a bomb about to go off.

 Snow. Right. Only Simon would sound like that, on the edge and panicked, about to completely lose it. _Crowley Snow, what did you do this time?_

 Mixed in with all the words that are being muttered I hear my name. I wish this dream or nightmare or whatever it is would just go away so I can go back to sleep or else I’m going to sleep through…. _Fuck_. _Classes._ This thought causes the sleepy feeling to disappear instantly and out of habit I stand up in one movement and start to walk towards the bathroom. Something grabs my wrist (with an astonishing amount of strength, I might add) and yanks me back.

 I spin around and come face to face with…myself. I’m hallucinating. Perfect. The apparition has a terrified look on his face and is clenching the hand that is not holding my wrist. His eyes are searching my face and I narrow mine. _Is this some kind of sick joke?_

My hallucination opens his mouth. “Baz?” He says this uncertainly. “How are, um.” He clears his throat. “How do you feel?”

 I don’t say anything and continue to stare. I feel like at some point common sense has told me not to converse with any hallucinations. I can tell this makes him nervous. He lets go of my wrist and plays with his fingers and shifts from foot to foot. The fidgeting looks so out of place on this carbon copy of myself that I resist the urge to grab him and keep him still. There is something oddly familiar about those movements though and his next words hit me like a bolt of lightning.

 “Christ, Baz say something, don’t just stand there.” He runs his hand through his (my) hair.

  _Simon?_

**Simon**

 Baz continues to stare at me for a few seconds after I grab him and I half expect him to punch me or try and spell me into oblivion. I can’t stand the waiting so I snap at him to say something. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see recognition in his eyes followed by a look of shock that quickly smooths out into his usual lack of expression.

 It’s really odd, seeing that look on my own face. Of course with someone else’s face Baz would still manage to look completely bored and unaffected. Even now it pisses me off.

 “Simon.” He looks momentarily horrified at the sound of his voice and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Slowly reaches a hand up to his face and runs it over his mouth, his nose, runs it through his curls and stops.

 “Look Baz,” I say hurriedly trying to say explain first, “I think something happened, maybe something with the spell last night, I’m not really sure, but um I think that wemayhaveswitchedplacesorsomething but I don’t think this is actually a spell and-“ the words tumble out in a rush and I’m unable to stop until Baz suddenly grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me into the wall next the bathroom door so hard that the wall shakes. The air around us starts to shimmer.

 “What is _wrong_ with you?” he hisses. “What have I done to deserve this, to deserve you? It’s bad enough that you can’t even manage your own pathetic excuse of a life but you have to go and fuck up everyone else’s as well.” Out of the corner of my eye I see one of the window panes start to crack, the scene taking on a red tint.

 “Baz-“ He needs to calm down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose control like this. To be honest, I always thought it would be satisfying to see him lose it, to prove that he can just like everyone else, but instead it’s just so out of character it’s unsettling. It’s actually starting to scare me.

 “Be quiet. Just-shut up.” He doesn’t notice what’s going on (or he’s trying to ignore it) but he seems to be trying to calm himself down. He’s still pinning me to the wall and I’m starting to wonder if I should try and escape when he hangs his head and stares at the floor, continuing to hold me to the wall. He mutters something under his breath and slowly lets me go. I can’t help but stare at him and wait.

 The air is still thick with his (my) magic and I’m still worried that something is going to make him go off. I’ve obviously never actually felt what it’s like to be on the other end of it, but from what Penny and Agatha have told me it’s not exactly nice (“Well, it’s sort of like…like you’re being electrocuted, struck by lightening, that sort of thing”).

 He’s still close enough to me where I can feel his breath on my neck (he’s slightly shorter than me now) but I’m not stupid enough to try and say anything again.

 So I wait.

 Eventually, he looks back up at me and says clearly “Get Bunce.”

  **Penelope**

 I’m sitting in the dining hall, waiting for Simon. He may sleep in sometimes, but he’s almost never this close to missing breakfast.

 For a few seconds I’m worried. What if the Mage sent him somewhere or the Humdrum attacked and none of us knew about it?

 I force myself to be rational. The Humdrum seems to make it’s (his?) appearance known and Simon would have told me if the Mage was planning to send him somewhere. Still, I’m preparing to march up to his room in broad daylight and drag him out of bed when I see Baz walk in. He’ll know if something happened to Simon. What with their bloody obsession with each other, Baz always pays attention to him. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

 As I make my way up to him, it looks like he’s searching for something, scanning the room frantically. Which is unusual. I swear, even if Basilton Pitch was on fire he would still look bored.

 When his eyes land on me he walks towards me. It occurs to me that Baz could have done something to Simon and finally acted on their mutual hatred. I wouldn’t put it past him I suppose.

 “Do you need something, Basilton?” I fold my arms across my chest. “I was hoping you could tell me where Simon was. I haven’t seen him yet.”

 “Listen, could you just come with me for a minute? I need to talk to you.” He says this much too quickly. I narrow my eyes.

 “Not until you tell me where Simon is.” I say this a little louder and his eyes widen.

 “Penny! Please just come with me. Ill explain everything in a second-“

 Since when has he ever called me anything except Bunce? The urgency in his voice is hard to ignore especially since I’ve never really heard it before. “No, you’ll explain it _now._ What did you do to him?”

 “Oh for Christ’s sake Penelope. It’s me! Something really bad happened last night-“

 I’m already walking out the door. Only Simon could sound like that. Only Simon swears like a Normal.

  _We’re in trouble now._

**Baz**

 After Snow left, presumably to go get Bunce, I sat down on my bed and put my head in my hands. I needed to think.

 I’ve never really gotten that angry before. This is a special circumstance, however. All I can think about is how bad this could potentially be for both of us. Although I don’t think he realized it in his distress, his fangs had started to come out and I could see the points of them filling his mouth. Snow has been trying to expose me as a vampire for years and he’s never had concrete proof he could show to all his friends, to the Mage. Until now.

 I’m stuck in unfamiliar territory, unsure what to do. Just now I realized just how dangerous this could be, when I felt my emotions begin to make my magic run wild and I knew that it was how Snow felt before he goes off. I’m grateful that I can calm myself easier than Snow can, but I’m not sure how long I can keep that kind of power under control. I can feel it even now running through my veins, trying desperately to get out. _Is this how it always is? Is this what it’s like to be a container for unimaginable power?_

I’m still lost in my thoughts when Snow comes back in, a clearly bewildered Bunce behind him (It still bothers me slightly that I’ve never been able to figure out how she can get into the tower). He shuts the door behind him and points at me.

 “See?”

 “See, what Simon?” Bunce says, clearly confused and annoyed.

 “It’s rude to point, Snow” When the words leave my mouth Bunce stares.  And then curses.

 “What the hell, Simon? What exactly…? Tell me what happened last night and leave nothing out.”

 “Well, I’m not- I mean I don’t really know…. I was practicing my spellwork and I switched us, maybe and it didn’t happen right away or anything-”

 “Oh for Crowley’s sake Snow.” I turn to Bunce and try and give her a concise summary of last night. While I’m talking, I can practically see the gears turning in her head. Although I’m loathe to admit it, Bunce is quite intelligent and I know if it weren’t for me she would be top in our class. At this point, she’s probably one of the few people I can trust to help us get out of this fucked up situation.

 When I’ve finished she looks worried but she nods. “I can do some research,” she says slowly, “But I’m not sure how much I’ll find. It sounds to me like Simon created a new spell or at the very least revived one that no one has ever heard of. It could take quite a while to find anything useful.” She looks at Snow. “Can I see the book that you were reading out of?” He hands it to her and she sighs. “I suppose this is partly my fault. I didn’t think any of these had any uses or history as spells.”

 “Clearly that is not the case.” I say, pointedly looking at Snow. She rolls her eyes.

 “Penny…“ Snow looks nervous. “Shouldn’t we tell someone like the Mage or one of the teachers? Maybe they can help, I mean we don’t know all the side effects of this spell…” He trails off and waits.

 She bits her lip. “No. I don’t think you should tell anyone. In fact, you most definitely should not.”

 “Do you feel at all up to elaborating on that?” I don’t bother hiding the irritation in my voice and Snow glares at me.

 “Look,” she says, “You could get into a lot of trouble if people find out about this. And I’m not talking about people scolding you or even getting kicked out of Watford. I’m talking about being brought in front of the Coven and put on trial. Maybe even magical imprisonment.”

 I feel a white hot burst of panic. I can’t go in front of the Coven. Ever. Regardless of the circumstances.

 For a few seconds I don’t have anything to say (I suddenly feel very overwhelmed by this situation) and so predictably, Simon speaks up, “Why would they do that? We didn’t do anything wrong! It was an accident and as far as we know no one was affected but us.”

 “Yes, but think about it. Whatever magic you did switched your selves, your personalities, your _souls_. The kind of magic that can do that is considered by most to be Dark magic, no matter what the result is. Anyone you told, friend or otherwise, would be required to report that to the Coven even if it was accidental. And it’s likely that people will believe that you were experimenting with Dark magic, Simon. With the amount of magic you have people will be able to hint that perhaps you were trying to increase your power by trying darker spells. Even Normals seem to know that soul magic is dark. I know you’re telling the truth, but to someone else your story may seem like some kind of cover up.”

 She’s right. I hate it, but she’s right, we can’t tell anyone. We can’t even risk it (or at least _I_ certainly can’t). Simon is the chosen one. He would get enough support and probably get off scot-free while my _condition_ was discovered and I would burn. The Coven has a zero tolerance policy for creatures like me. I’m sure people like the Mage who already resent me for being a part of the old families could easily assign me all the blame for corrupting their golden Chosen One. And they need Simon (or at least they think they do.)

 They don’t need me.

 Simon appears to be thinking Bunce’s words over and a few times I see him glance at me and then quickly away. I wonder if he’s thinking the same things I am. _Why would he care? He’s been trying to expose me for years._

I wonder if the irony that he may be accused of concocting some sort of nefarious, borrowed-from-a-Disney-film-villain plot when he spends half of his life accusing me of doing practically the same thing is lost on him.

It’s a delicate situation. There is no room for error until we find some sort of solution. In order for this to be kept a secret I suppose we’re going to have to pretend to be each other and more or less assume the other’s identity, keep up some sort of charade until we can fix this. One mistake, one minor slip up, and we’re done.

 Bunce glances at her watch and breaks the silence. “Electrocution started a few minutes ago.” At these words Simon starts out of his thoughts.

 “Shit! They’ll all notice we’re missing. We have to go.” He starts towards the door and I grab his arm and yank him back.

 “No, _Bunce_ has to go,” I correct him. “ _We_ are going to stay here and have a little...talk.”

 I feel some sort of twisted satisfaction when I see a terrified look briefly cross my own face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry body switching stories are so confusing to read sometimes....


	3. Dysfunctional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon figure some stuff out

**Simon**

I think that if I could describe Baz in one word it would be….unpredictable.

I mean, there are other words as well. Like arse. Or shifty. Brooding.

Cold.

When I say that I don’t just mean metaphorically. I do. Baz is one of the coldest people I know, personality-wise. The angrier I get the calmer he becomes, infuriatingly collected and rational in the oddest of situations. It actually works to our advantage a lot of times, when I’ve screwed something up or some other magical entity has seen fit to lay waste to some other magical entity, but I’d never admit it out loud. I very much doubt I’d be able to stand him afterwards.

Baz is cold literally because he is a vampire. Every once in a while I’ll accidently brush by him in the mornings or in classes and it will send a shock through my arm, like ice. He always just sneers or glares at me until I walk away. (I suspect it has something to do with how long he goes in between visits to the catacombs.)

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. A bit unnerving, actually. I watch him now, sitting across from me on his bed, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his folded hands and wonder if I’ve lost him somewhere. I clear my throat.

“Baz?” He raises his head slowly and blinks at me. For a few moments I start to wonder if something else has gone wrong. Then he breathes out slowly.

“Is something wrong, Snow?” His voice sounds flat and tired and for a second I wish I had left him to brood in peace. After Penny had left he had just sort of collapsed into silence. Honestly, this should be pretty normal. Usually he only bothers to speak to me to insult me.

Something is off though. As much as I don’t want to, we should probably talk. Come up with a plan. Consider our options. Like reasonable, rational people do.

“No. Not really. I just was thinking, well wondering really, I thought that we were going to…” I trail off as I watch Baz close his eyes and lay back on his bed, arms folded over his chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He sounds bored. “Preparing myself of course.”

Preparing… “For _what_?” That’s it. He may have lost it now.

He opens one eye from his position on the bed. “Well I suppose I’m the Chosen One now, aren’t I? I’m afraid I’m woefully underprepared for such a task,” he drawls, “I imagine I have the weight of the magical world on my shoulders, or at the very least, the mage’s group of followers. Quite an unstable lot, or so I’ve heard.”

Oh Jesus Christ. I take a deep breath. It’s all right. Now is not the time to choke my roommate. Not while he’s in my body, anyway. “Oh, shut up.” He raises an eyebrow at me. I think I might actually kill him. (How is it possible that look works on my face? I had thought it was the pale and dark thing he has going on, but apparently not).

It occurs to me, watching him smirk at me from the bed, that there are other reasons why Baz looking like me is a recipe for disaster. Mostly, how all the Old Families are trying to undermine everything the Mage stands for. How Baz is a member of one of the oldest magical families there is. How I am, for all intents and purposes, the Mage’s heir.

Something must show on my face because Baz sits up and snaps,

“Relax, Snow. I’m not going to spy on your precious Mage. How pathetic would that be?”

A familiar rush of anger washes over me. I keep waiting for my face to feel the normal flush of heat that comes with it when I remember. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz turn red. As I clench my fists at my sides I watch Baz stiffen. His eyes flick down to my sides and then up to my mouth for a moment before they drop to the floor. It’s enough to make me wonder though. I put my hand on my mouth and freeze. Oh fuck, are those—

Fangs. Long sharp things that are already shrinking (where do they even go?). There’s a tingly feeling in my mouth that’s kind of painful. I run my tongue along my teeth and they feel like normal ones. Blunt and human and definitely not something you could accidently cut yourself on.

After I’ve finished poking and prodding my mouth, I meet Baz’s gaze. He’s been watching me, silently and I freeze with one finger still on my teeth. Baz looks…nervous. I would know, I’ve seen that expression hundreds of times. (Usually in the mirror but that’s besides the point).

I pull my finger out of my mouth with a loud pop. “Sorry. So about the—“

“No.” Said with finality.

“But it’s—they are—“

“No.”

All right then. Guess we’re not talking about it. It’s not like I didn’t know what he is, but I’ve never actually seen it outside of his nightmares. This anger thing—seems like an important detail (but what do I know).

“Shouldn’t we be doing something? If we’re not going to class—I know that we really can’t, erm, currently, but I was thinking we should…make use of our time,” I finish lamely.

Baz rolls his eyes. He steeples his hands in front of him and gives me an exaggerated smile. “Well what would you like to do, Simon?”

“I don’t know maybe go for a walk?” I really don’t want to be in this room any longer. The weather looks nice. Sun is out.

“A walk,” Baz repeats dubiously.” To where?”

“Um,” I say glancing out the window, “I don’t know.” (I’m tempted to wander around and see if Baz knows more of the secret parts of Watford. I have no doubt he does. He practically grew up here).

“Brilliant. We can just wander around hoping we don’t run into anyone we know and make complete fools of ourselves, and by that I do mean you, Snow and—“ At that moment a loud growling noise cuts him off. For a second I think that something is trying to attack us, and then I watch as Baz grimaces and places a hand on his stomach. I can’t help but snort.

“The kitchens then?” He narrows his eyes.

“There isn’t a curse in the world strong enough. It looks like I have an eighth year project after all.” I swallow. The worst part is that Baz rarely makes idle threats. In fact, I think he would really enjoy having a test subject. One that conveniently sleeps a few inches away from him every night. One that conveniently gets in hundreds of magical accidents a year. It’s not like he hasn’t tried to kill me before.

“Well, that’s good, I can hardly wait,” He snorts, “But I’ll take that to mean you aren’t really hungry so I suppose we can skip lunch, spend a few hours in the library then?” His stomach growls again and I can’t stop the grin.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, “I despise you with every fibre of my being.”

“I know.”

**Baz**

I think I would rather have switched bodies with Bunce’s idiotic roommate, Trixie. That would have been upsetting, I imagine, but this. This may end up being the death of me (literally).

I haven’t been this hungry in ages. Crowley, if this is what Snow feels like all of the time it’s hardly surprising, the amount of food he makes his way through every day.

It really is lovely out. The skies are completely clear and it’s one of those days where there is just the slightest hint of a breeze and unseasonably warm. I’m watching Snow as he walks beside me, prattling on about something or other that in no way has any relation to our situation, as the sun makes his (my) dark hair gleam. It’s falling in his face because he refused to let me help him with it this morning and he keeps tucking it behind his ears.

It’s disconcerting, really, because despite his looking like me, stuck in my body, he still somehow manages to look the same. He still has the same over-eager enthusiasm and awkward little mannerisms that make him Simon Snow. It’s irritating and just the slightest bit endearing and I hate it.

Well. It’s not like I thought this would be particularly easy. I thought Snow was going to die of embarrassment this morning when we had to get dressed. He dug around and shoved his clothes awkwardly at me, refusing to look from the floor. I know that if it was possible, he would have been bright red.

As for me, I dressed as fast as I could. I feel like a child that’s finally gotten a present they’ve been wanting for three years but it was stolen and it’s just wrong with sharp edges of guilt and the hollow sensation of knowing it’s not really yours.

The kitchens are empty and I start poking around looking for something to eat. Snow just looks smug as he watches. I pick up a small green apple.

“Think fast.” I throw the apple in his general direction and watch as he snatches is out of the air a split second later, quick as a snake. He looks so shocked that I can’t help but laugh.

“Did you _see_ that?”

“See what?” I say.

“I didn’t know that was even possible.”

“You having proper coordination? Neither did I.”

He frowns. “Have you always been that fast?”

No. “As long as I can remember.” Technically the truth. I can see him working up the nerve to say something else when a door slams somewhere in the distance. Cook Pritchard walks in, wiping her hand in a dishtowel before she looks up. “Simon Snow,” she says to me not sounding the least bit surprised, “Fancy seeing you here.” She raises her eyebrows at Simon. “Basilton. I haven’t seen you around for a while.” I can see her giving Simon a bit of a disapproving glare as if she believes I am abusing her favor by bringing Simon along. I can’t blame her for being suspicious. Who would believe I would be feeding Snow instead of trying to kill him?

She walks out of sight and I hear the metallic clanging of kitchenware. Snow shoots me a panicked look and I ignore him in favor of grabbing some leftover pastries from the counter and stuffing them in my pockets (it’s not my clothing after all). Simon fidgets as she comes back around the corner and I resist the urge to pin his arms to his sides.

“And how is your father?” She directs this to Snow. I can see that the question throws him for a bit. He looks confused and a little unsettled like someone is playing a cruel joke, before it hits him.

“Oh, he’s…well. You know how it is. Busy.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and lowers his gaze to his feet.

“Oh yes, I imagine.” She eyes Snow and his inability to keep still. She looks like she’s going to ask another question so I clear my throat and walk to stand by Snow. I paste a smile on my face. “Well we better get going. Wouldn’t want to miss next class.” I grab his elbow and start dragging him towards the door. He looks on the verge of protesting this particular indignity so I tighten my grip.

“Be sure to give him my best,” Cook says. She sounds amused somewhere underneath the confusion and I try not to think about that for too long. Simon nods at her as I pull him out the doors.

“You’ll be quiet if you know what’s good for you,” I threaten under my breath as he opens his mouth, presumably to whinge at me and he shuts it again (and isn’t that a neat trick?). He mutters something under his breath and I ignore him as I march him through the dining hall and out through the doors before we can run into anyone else.

~~

We end up sitting in the stands overlooking the football pitch. Despite the fact that the weather is rarely ever anything other than overcast and bitterly cold (it is England in the winter, after all) the grass is never anything other than perfect. Someone must cast **the grass is always greener** every morning.

As I sit there, watching Simon study the world around him, living and breathing, I can’t help but wonder if he has realized what is missing. If he has even noticed. I think about how he would react to something that he must have known or at the very least guessed at, all these years, about me, what I am. A dead thing, preserved by dark magic, permitted to keep existing under some conditions that I am still not fully aware of.

I wonder if he misses his heartbeat.

If I have one, I’ve never been able to independently verify it. Some undoubtedly magic force keeps my body functioning, but it is quite different from being completely alive. All I know is that I don’t have a pulse, and the longer I go without feeding the more likely I am to be mistaken as a corpse. It’s never failed to be utterly depressing.

The decision Father made years ago to keep my condition a secret (for obvious reasons) has left me with few options to educate myself. I could hardly see the local physician, Normal or otherwise. If there is anything my Father has perfected over the course of his lifetime, it is the ability to avoid any topic of conversation he deemed dangerous and unnecessary. Although I would like to believe it was my excellent judgment, I think it was just extremely lucky that I didn’t try to seek out anyone like me and get caught up in dark magic.

I mean, really, they were lucky I didn’t develop a taste for human blood the day I turned thirteen. I think the unspoken agreement to not discuss any and all matters relating to my conditions (that being my vampirism primarily and sexuality second) led to one of the biggest fights between my father and stepmother to date (something that I’m not supposed to know).

I’m still sorting through the overflow of pastries in my lap when Simon faces me, legs crossed, with that Look on his face. That determined glint in his eye that says he’s going to do this or die trying.

He blurts out, “We’re going to get caught!”

I take a deep breath. “Not if we’re careful. Which is why we’re going to have some rules.” Simon of course, visibly blanches at this. I roll my eyes.

“Not like that,” I say quickly before he can get angry again, “It’s more so we don’t say the wrong things to the wrong sort of people, those kind of rules. Things we need to know.”

Now it’s his turn to look irritated. “We live together Baz. I’ve known you for the longest over anyone else besides the Mage.” He says this so casually that I can’t help but feel something unpleasant curl in my stomach, despite myself.

“While that may be true, it’s not enough. Not now.” Looking at his darkening expression I feel it completely necessary to add, “In this miserable situation that you have gotten us in, mind you, so I don’t want to hear your petty complaints.” He huffs indignantly at this.

“Fine. Let’s hear it then.”

“Hear what?”

“Your deepest darkest secrets, of course.”

“Excuse me?” I try to keep my voice as even as possible.

“You know. Fantasies, desires, fears. Your secrets Basilton Pitch.” Snow has affected an almost bored tone and by the way his eyes dart over to look at me nervously, it’s mostly for show. It’s times like these that I’m tempted to say to hell with it and answer Snow completely honestly. _The truth is Simon, most of my fantasies involve you, in my bed, under my hands, completely at my mercy, though not in the way you think, or blood. Some combination of the two, maybe. Depending on my mood it can be me killing you or vice versa, nothing that ends well like a fantasy should. What about you?_

Against my will, I feel a blush creeping up my neck, and I choose to ignore it. Snow of course focuses in on it and grins.

“AHA! So there is something!”

Until this moment, I had never truly missed my vampirism. “As usual, you have no idea what’s going on.” Deny, deny. “I meant more about your acting skills, you idiot.” He blinks at me. “Well I assume we’re going to have to face the rest of the world eventually. You may be alright with missing classes, but people will get suspicious very quickly if we’re both missing.”

“I know that,” he says slowly.

“Well, you’re a shit liar, always have been,” I say.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything! It has everything to do with this! If we don’t want to get caught and tried for Dark magic, then we must be convincing. Are you even capable—

He snorts. “Please, Baz, it isn’t hard.” He sits up suddenly, straightens his spine and folds his hands in his lap. He smoothens out his expression so that his face is completely blank and snaps, “Crowley, Snow, can’t you do anything right?” He narrows his eyes. “Well, I would help, but I’m too much of a git to care, so I think I’ll go be creepy and brooding somewhere else while you get your life together. My name is Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, but I go by my middle name because who would ever go by Tyrannus. I live to torment my poor roommate along with my crazy aunt—“

**Simon**

Fiona. She’s going to kill me. She might try to kill Baz. Who knows? I say as much to Baz and he frowns at me. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says with an odd twist to his mouth, “she usually leaves the actual killing part up to her favorite nephew.” Well that much is true. I think back to fifth year (I know she was behind that—even Baz doesn’t have that much magic) and feel sort of angry, the kind that makes me itch underneath my skin.

“You should smile more.” I say.

He looks at me suddenly. “What?”

“If you want to be convincing, you can’t look so pissed off all the time.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I only look that way around you?” he says sweetly.

I roll my eyes and turn so I’m facing him. “C’mon, give me your best smile.” He does so, looking extremely put out I might add, and I breathe out slowly. “Oh, Christ.” He tilts his head slightly in question, and I say, “That is fucking terrifying. I didn’t even know I could be that scary.” He glares at me and I can’t help it; I start to laugh so hard that I double over, practically crying and I choke out,

“I didn’t know—and you can’t even—it’s just not--right—now I know why—dark magic” It takes me a minute or two to stop and Baz looks furious. I slowly calm down. Baz is staring at me, waiting.

“You’re not taking this seriously, Simon.” He says it quietly. Whatever laughter I had left dies a quick death as I look at him.

“Baz—“

“Maybe you don’t care as much, he interrupts, “in fact I know you don’t. You should, Snow.”

“Why are you so worried?” He won’t look at me.

“You know why.”

It’s the closest we’ve come to saying it out loud and the whole thing feels very fragile, somehow. I don’t bother pushing because, yes. I do know why. The silence lasts for a while, neither of us wanting to break it.

There’s a quiet fluttering sound behind me. I look around before a sharp chirp in my ear makes me jump. A fat little brown and white bird is hovering near my ear. It drops a note in my lap and zips off.

The Mage. He must have used A little bird told me, like he always does. He has a mobile, I’m sure of it. I unfold it carefully (for all I know it could be some sort of magical test). It says,

_Simon-I have something important to ask you. Come find me after class._   
_-The Mage_

I hand Baz the slip of paper and rest my face in my hands. He reads it without comment. I groan.

“Why so unhappy, Snow?”

I lift my head “Because this is the last thing I need right now.” He doesn’t ask and I don’t bother elaborating.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that the bird gave it to me?” I ask. Baz shakes his head.

“No. Magic responds to magic. In other words, our magic is still the same, even if we’ve been… moved around.” Huh. If that’s the case, then I wonder if Baz will be able to control his magic even though he has much more of it. Does it matter that his magic is different from mine? Baz is much better than I am. If this was twenty years ago, I wouldn’t even have been accepted to Watford. Does this mean that the same spells will respond differently or the same? I’m starting to get a headache. A nasty one too, by the feel of it.

Baz stands up, brushing crumbs off his trousers. “Where are you going?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I was under the impression I had been summoned.” He starts to walk away and I stand up and stumble after him. “Wait—“ I grab him by the arm and he visibly tenses.

“Did you need something?” I pause, trying not to upset him.

“Just don’t… _do_ anything.”

“ _What_.” He says flatly.

“Well,” I hesitate,”I’m not sure what he’s going to tell you. I don’t want you to get any ideas or ask too many questions or try to take something or execute any plans-“ I’m babbling I know, I can’t help it.

“Don’t worry, Snow”, and his voice sounds hollow, “I won’t. I do have a sense of self-preservation after all.” He pulls his arm away and gives me an appraising look like he’s thinking about the next best place to dump my body.

“Normally I wouldn’t worry about this, but considering who I’m speaking to,” he taps the side of his nose with his index finger, “I feel I should remind you to not attempt any magic, especially by yourself.”

I bristle at this. “I know that!”

He smiles coolly. “Excellent. And here I thought I’d have to state the obvious.” He starts walking away and then pauses without turning around. “And Snow?”

“…yes?”

“Do try to stay away from fire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... Hi? I'm not dead! Real life got in the way and everything including this fic kind of got put on the shelf for a while. For those who commented and hit that kudos button you guys are the best and I swear you make my day. Feedback/Ideas are always appreciated so tell me what you think. Next chapter: All those characters you know and love making an appearance! I promise my next update will be faster, thank you all.
> 
> As per usual this fic is unbeta'd despite desperately needing to be.


End file.
